Tuesday, 15 March 2016

When my world lost its colour...

Back in January I wrote Can't Blog - 10 Reasons Why. Reason No 6 was that a friend was very sick. But the
truth is, it wasn't 'a friend', it was my brother, and although I gave only two
lines to that excuse, it felt like it should have been in Capitals, Bold and in
72 font.

I have observed Facebook friends sharing news of ill loved ones, but it
felt wrong to do that. It wasn't my news to make public. I'm only blogging
about this now, because my brother gave me his permission, and because, as a
blogger, I feel I won't be able to move on unless I do.

It began months ago, in Summer, with a pain in his testicle. My brother
went to see different doctors, some told him it was normal, others admitted
they didn't have a clue and to go somewhere else. He was subjected to every
type of test and scan, but no one could give him a straight answer. It seemed
he had a tumour somewhere blocking the flow of blood. He was young, it was
bound to be benign, the doctor said. They gave him a list of possibilities of
what it could be and told him not to google them or he would be scared to
death. The worst case scenario was Sarcoma. The doctor assured him it couldn't
possibly be that.

Early in January, we found out it was the worst case scenario. Not only
was it a malign tumour, it was also extremely rare and in a complicated
position. When I heard my brother had cancer, the world lost its colour.

The question was: Would they be able to operate on him?

He was made to wait for what seemed an eternity for an answer.
Communication with the hospital was awful. They would call him in only to
deliver paperwork, like a courier. It was because the original hospital where
he'd had all his tests couldn't cope with such a complex operation and he'd had
to do them all over again. There are only 4000 cases in America a year of this
kind of tumour. Incredibly, my brother managed to carry on as normal, running
his business, continuing to make
everyone laugh with his brilliant social media videos. How he got on with his
life is a testimony to how resilient my brother is.

The tumour couldn't be treated by
chemo or radiotherapy.

If they couldn't operate, then what?

An appointment with the surgeon was finally set. I flew in to Barcelona
and went with my Dad and my brother to hear his verdict. To remove the tumour,
they would need to remove a kidney, his vena cava and put a prosthetic aorta.
It was a very complicated operation, one that was done less than once a year in
Spain. They were only suggesting it because he was young. There wasn't an alternative.

After getting that news, there was no communication from the hospital
for ten days. This was because they were busy assembling a team of the best
surgeons and deciding how to operate. The wait was excruciating. The fear grew
until it was crushing my chest and I couldn't breathe. How he didn't go mad, I
don't know. Two weeks later, a date was set for the operation.

On Thursday my brother underwent 9 hours of surgery. I spent the day
with my parents, his girlfriend, and two of his close friends hoping and
praying he would make it through. There were four different surgeons working on
him. It was an emotional day. My Dad, who doesn't drink much, needed a glass of
wine with his breakfast. We all did. When they wheeled him out of the operation
theatre, we felt we could start to breathe.

In the evening, my parents were allowed to see him in the emergency
ward. While his girlfriend, Nicola, loyal friend, Joan, and I were able to see
him through a window. We didn't expect him to be conscious. His eyes flickered
open and he said: Sorry if I don't get up.

It was incredible. That's my brother! I thought, making a joke after major
surgery! Of course he was drugged up, and after that, there were days when
speaking was too painful.

I'm happy to report he is recovering well, and his remaining kidney is
working. Now he just needs his digestive system to kick into gear so he can
start eating and drinking again.

I left Spain and my brother yesterday, as I needed to be in Colombia. It
broke my heart to go, and on my first flight I seriously considered grabbing
the arm of the sleeping man beside me and balling into his shoulder. I know he is in brilliant hands. One of the positive things that have come out of this is I've spent lots of time with his new girlfriend, who I feel like I've known
forever. My brother is so loved.

I know my brother will get through this. He is strong and determined.
The fear of losing him was the worst feeling of my life. Since we were little,
I've always looked up to him. He is the funniest guy I know and a brilliant,
creative and loving man. I'm so proud to be his sister. Without him, the world
really would have lost its sparkle.

All my love Oriol 'Oli' Benet. I love you! Now, hurry up and get better!
You have lots of wonderful adventures ahead of you!

Feel for you Emily. Know exactly what you mean about sharing very serious and private matters on Facebook. Sending all my positive thoughts to your family and you. So very very pleased your brother came through surgery. I wish him a speedy recovery. I wish you and all those supporting him the mental and physical energy and strength to keep you buoyed. Best wishes all round.

I've only just managed to read this. How awful for Oli and all of you - such a horrible diagnosis - but thank goodness for the surgery. I add my voice to all others in sending love and the best of best wishes to Oli for a wonderful recovery and for your whole family, because all of you are affected. Here's to great health and being back on those skates.

Thank you so much Emily for this beautiful piece of writing. I never new how to tell anyone and you made it magically easy for my with this, and of course made me cry a big ol' but. I love you so much!

All the best to you and your brother. I hope he continues to make a good recovery. I also have a brother and the idea of losing him is unthinkable, even tho sometimes he is a "hobble boy," as I named him as a child.